A Worgen Love Story
by NetRaptor
Summary: In Gilneas, a young aristocratic couple who have never loved each other are bitten by worgen. As they struggle to survive, they realize that maybe their true love/ was there all along.
1. Chapter 1

A Worgen Love Story

By K.M. Hollar/Carroll

Copyright 2010. The World of Warcraft universe copyrighted by Blizzard and Activision.

* * *

Everyone said that Bernard and Charlotte Preston were a poor match.

Theirs had been an arranged marriage. "They'd do well to combine their fortunes," their families had said. "They'll come to like each other after a few years."

It had been three years, and the pair had yet to show signs of liking each other.

Bernard scarcely cleared five feet in height, balding, and tended to the portly side. He and Charlotte met at meals, and beside making polite conversation, they ignored each other.

Charlotte stood five inches taller than Bernard, and wore her mounds of golden hair piled artfully on top of her head. Her dresses were always of the latest style, and she held elaborate dinners and dances for the rest of the upper class of Gilneas so she could show off. Her ultimate goal was for Lady Graymane to pay her a social call, but that had not yet happened.

Charlotte found her social climb hindered by her husband. Certainly they were wealthy, due to three generations of sea trading on both sides of the family. Yet Bernard was content to remain obscure behind her social facade. Most days he spent his time in his alchemy laboratory behind their mansion, sometimes consorting with other alchemists and sometimes the Gilnean Mage Society. But a handful of arcane researchers did not bring Charlotte the acclaim she craved.

She spoke to Bernard about it one evening at supper. They were seated at opposite ends of a vast dining table, amid islands of silver and glimmering candles. Bernard had acquired a loathsome habit of reading while he ate, and was engrossed in a small tome as he sipped his soup.

"Bernard," said Charlotte. "I wish to ask you something."

He looked up in surprise, his glasses slipping off the end of his nose. He caught them before they landed in his soup, and laid them and his book aside. "Yes, my lady?"

"What is it that you do all day in your shop?"

Bernard was mildly flattered that she had asked him something about himself. However, three years of his wife's presence, however distant, had taught him that she rarely took notice of anyone else unless she could make use of them. "I am conducting various alchemical experiments," he replied.

Charlotte frowned. "Are they of ... any significance?"

"I believe they are," said Bernard. "Some of us distrust Argual's methods of defending Gilneas ..."

"Oh, politics," said Charlotte with a tinkling laugh. "I am trying to climb the ladder of society, and you are brewing potions! You must aspire to greater things if we are to become important in the eyes of Society."

Bernard said nothing. He merely replaced his glasses and reopened his book.

"Well?" snapped Charlotte. "Didn't you hear a word I said?"

"Yes, my lady," said Bernard without looking up. "I have no intention of 'aspiring to greater things', as you put it."

Charlotte snorted.

From that day on, she pestered Bernard about his social importance. She introduced him to other important men and women, whom she took to inviting to dinner. She encouraged them to talk about topics that might attract the attention of the Graymanes, like the state of shipping and Gilneas's troublesome isolationist policy.

Bernard participated in these conversations very little, and departed as soon as possible.

Bernard's real concerns were far more real and pressing than Charlotte would have believed. He locked himself in his laboratory and observed the different-colored potions simmering in their vials, and grumbled to himself. What a silly, empty-headed woman he had married. He wished that she cared about his work, rather than only herself.

Late that night, a knock sounded at the lab's door. Bernard opened it, and admitted a middle-aged man in a blue robe. "Hello Kryn, come in, come in." It was raining outside, as usual in Gilneas, but Kryn's robes were dry. He pushed back his hood, and the sparkles of a weather-warding spell trickled off him.

"How is the new batch coming?" asked Kryn, walking to the table covered in alchemical instruments.

"I haven't tested it yet," said Bernard. "Did you test my other sample?"

"Yes, unfortunately," said Kryn. He pulled a burlap sack out of one of his robe's spacious pockets and tossed it on a nearby chair. "It reversed the transformation, all right, but the beast died afterward."

Bernard donned a pair of leather gloves, opened the bag, and withdrew a strand of hair with silver tweezers. "Pity," he said, peering over the top of his glasses at the hair. "I'm beginning to think that I'm approaching the problem all wrong."

"What do you mean?" asked Kryn, helping himself to a pot of tea kept warm over a small ball of blue magefire.

"Maybe there is no cure for the transformation," said Bernard. "But maybe I could insulate the mind from its effects."

Kryn froze with the teacup halfway to his mouth. He set it down again. "You may have something there. The Society knows all about the magic manipulation of minds. For instance." He cast a small spell on Bernard, changing him to a man-sized sheep wearing glasses and leather gloves. The sheep looked at Kryn reproachfully.

Kryn changed him back into Bernard, who straightened up. "I wish you'd warned me."

"Sorry," said Kryn. "I was making a point. Polymorph doesn't affect your mind. Only your body."

"You'd better dissect the spell for me," said Bernard. "How could I duplicate such effects with herbs?"

They fell to discussing the technicalities of their crafts, and worked until sunup. Then they parted ways, and Bernard went to bed until noon. It was one way to avoid Charlotte.

Gilneas was a small walled nation in southwestern Silverpine forest. Their cities were built on a peninsula, and the great Graymane Wall cut off all land access to the peninsula. This served to keep out the undead Scourge when they flowed down from the northern lands, engulfing the capital city of Lorderon. But when the Alliance called to King Graymane for help, he scorned them and declared Gilneas an isolated, neutral nation that would take no part in the affairs of its neighbors.

Yet the Scourge persisted in attempting to scale the wall or circle around it by sea. So the Archmage Arugal decided to summon an army that could rival the Scourge in size and ferocity: the worgen.

None could say where Arugal found the Scythe of Elune. But the Scythe allowed him to summon myriads of vicious wolf-men. None knew their true origin, or where they came from when summoned. Some thought they must have once been human or elvish, and now suffered under a terrible curse.

And the curse was spreading. People were disappearing. Men from the Night Watch vanished most often, and someone reported to have seen their badges hanging around the necks of worgen in Argual's compound.

The Mage Society and every alchemist in Graymane City were hard at work, trying to find a way to remedy the curse before it spread any further. But the worgen condition baffled them. The curse did not respond to any of the regular methods of breaking or lifting a curse, and the worgen tested generally died, or lost what little sanity they still possessed.

Bernard and the mages worked hard on this new angle of treating the curse. Perhaps there was no cure ... but perhaps the curse itself could be modified?

Bernard spent three weeks creating a new potion. All the while, reports from Arugal's compound became more alarming. The worgen responded less and less eagerly to Arugal's commands. They had been observed trying to leap over the wooden walls of their enclosures. Several succeeded and were shot down by guards, which seemed to infuriate the rest.

"Suppose they all get out," thought Bernard as he stirred his latest concoction. "There are at least four hundred of them. What might that do to Graymane City?"

Meanwhile, Charlotte had taken no notice of the alarming rumors. Spring had arrived, and it was time for the annual Spring Ball. She had pulled every string she could to ensure that the ball took place at Halfmoon Manor. She kept the servants hard at work cleaning the whole house from top to bottom, and drove several maids to tears by making them re-polish the ballroom floor over and over.

Bernard read his book at dinner, and tuned out Charlotte's chatter about Mrs. So and So and Mr. Such and Such who had accepted her invitations. The only thing he listened to was the list of the food she had planned. When she insisted that Bernard attend, he agreed so cheerfully that she was astonished.

The day of the ball crept closer. Bernard paid it no attention. He was nearing a breakthrough on his worgen curse treatment, and had little thought for anything else. He had many other alchemists and mages alike running their own, parallel experiments, and they all kept in close contact.

The morning of the ball, Bernard distilled his elixir into a small bottle. It was a pale blue, and shimmered a little in the light. He poured a single dose into a small vial, planning to carry it on his person at all times. Then he looked at it and thought for a moment. He might as well carry two. He filled a second vial, and tucked them both into an inner coat pocket.

Then he pulled out a piece of parchment, loaded a quill with ink, and wrote, "Kryn, I have finished the elixir. I have not yet tested it, but I have high hopes of its success. We must test it tomorrow." He signed it, blotted the ink, rolled it up, and placed it on a square carved stone on a pedestal behind his alchemical equipment. The scroll vanished, sent to a matching stone in the Mage Tower.

The mansion was seething like an anthill with last minute ball preparations, so Bernard avoided it. Instead he fetched a horse from the stables and rode into town.

The sun was breaking through the perpetually cloudy sky, and the wet streets glistened silver. People called back and forth across the streets, and children ran about, almost under the feet of the carriage horses. The air was warm and smelled of spring. Bernard smiled and relaxed in the saddle, allowing his horse to choose its own pace through the crowded street.

After a while he passed through the busiest areas and reached the more affluent neighborhoods on the wall side of Graymane city. He cantered through their grassy yards, his horse flinging chunks of turf from under its hooves. He was making for the worgen pens just inside the gates.

His horse snorted and slowed to a walk, tossing its head. He patted its neck. "Easy, boy. We're still a good distance from them."

But even Bernard could smell the worgen pens ... like filthy dog kennels. After a while he came into sight of them, thick double-braced wooden enclosures, the tops of the fences studded with sharpened stakes and jagged metal. Guards stood at intervals around the walls, gripping their gnomish rifles and looking nervous.

As Bernard watched, something hit the wall from the inside and the entire enclosure rocked. There was a horrible wet snarling sound, then silence fell.

Bernard turned his horse around and galloped for home, his alarm growing. The once strong fences had been rocked about so much that their supports in the ground had weakened.

"They should all be destroyed," he muttered to himself.

He arrived home at noon, and resigned himself to the ministrations of his servants, who were under orders from Charlotte to apprehend Bernard and make him presentable. He submitted to a bath, and having his scanty hair combed and powdered, then dressed in stiff, pressed formal clothes. He made sure to transfer the precious elixir bottles into the inner pocket of his jacket.

By the time his manservant pronounced him presentable, it was mid-afternoon and guests were beginning to arrive. Bernard peered out his window at the drive below, which was packed with carriages and footmen ushering brightly-dressed women and somberly-dressed men up the mansion steps.

He sighed. Off to an evening of fake smiles and pretending to be pleasant to people who didn't know him. He patted the elixir bottles in his pocket, and strode out the door.

Charlotte was busy greeting guests, and was glad to see Bernard appear at her elbow and greet the couples as they entered. "About time," she muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

"I was otherwise engaged," he murmured back through his smile.

That was all the conversation they managed. Guests arrived intermittently for the next four hours, and Bernard's feet began to ache in his good shoes. Charlotte looked ravishing in layers of white and red silk, with a train that fell five feet behind her. She wore a bouquet of real flowers pinned into her hair above her left ear. Bernard admired her, and wistfully wished that they liked one another. They were married, after all, and he had never once touched her.

Once all the guests had arrived, Charlotte sailed into the ballroom, and Bernard trailed in her wake. The worst part was over with now. All he had to do was hobnob with the other men and enjoy the buffet. He eyed the table of spirits and soda, but turned away. He wanted his head clear tonight. That wobbling fence kept passing through his mind's eye.

The band started up a spirited waltz, and Bernard watched as the dozens of pretty dresses and crisp suits swirled onto the dance floor. Charlotte was in the thick of it, dancing with a tall, handsome lawyer. She never danced with Bernard. He watched her, and felt a faint twinge of jealousy. Then he wondered why. Their marriage was all but name only, but he had never toyed with other women. He felt that he was married and needed to uphold that. He wondered if Charlotte felt the same, and watched her twirl and dance with the lawyer. He doubted it.

The dances went on, and Bernard browsed the buffet. It was excellent. He hobnobbed with the other men, as he was expected to, and flirted courteously with the ladies. But he kept thinking of that wobbling fence, and wishing that he could check his scrollstone for a return message from Kryn.

It was nearing midnight, and Bernard was feeling fatigued and resting in a chair, when he heard a strange sound from outside. An animal howling. Then the sound of breaking glass.

He rose to his feet and stared across the room at the ballroom entrance. The servants were hurrying out in alarm. But people kept dancing and the music kept playing.

Bernard stood frozen, heart beginning to pound. He had expected something like this, yet he had no idea what to do.

Then the screams began.

Terrible screams, screams of dying women mixed with an animal roaring and growling. The music stuttered to a halt, and the roomful of handsomely dressed people turned to stare.

Bernard spotted Charlotte as she rose to her feet from a chair across the room, where she had been resting her feet in the lap of the young lawyer. Bernard hurried toward her, shouldering past other staring, frozen people. No one paid any attention to him, for the screams were growing louder.

"Charlotte," he said, grabbing her arm.

She looked at him, her face white. "Bernard," she gasped, "what's happening?"

He pulled the elixirs out of his pocket and pressed one into her hand. "Drink this. It might save you."

"What is it?" she whispered, looking at the shimmering blue liquid.

"Drink it!" he commanded, uncorking his own vial. He drank it in one gulp. Charlotte sipped hers, made a face, then finished it and laid the vial on the table.

Then the worgen entered the ballroom.

Five of them bounded through the doors, some rearing up on their hind legs to peer over the crowd. They were much taller than a human, all shaggy gray fur, long canine faces with bared fangs, and long arms ending in dagger-like claws. Then they dropped to all fours and sprang into the crowd.

The ballroom erupted into pandemonium. Everyone tried to run away from the worgen, but only succeeded in tripping over others and themselves. Worst were the women in their choking skirts, tangling in them and falling, only to find their throats bared to the worgens' fangs. People opened windows and leaped out, but from the noise outside, there were worgen outside the mansion, too.

Bernard pulled Charlotte around the circumference of the room, making for the balcony door. Many people had fled already, and the crowd was thinning. The floor was splattered and smeared with blood.

Four of the worgen were mangling and killing every human in their paths, but the fifth worgen, with a human-like cunning, was only biting. He bit only arms or legs, only deep enough to draw blood. He saw Bernard and Charlotte, and sprang at them from across the ballroom.

Bernard leaped in front of Charlotte to shield her from the gray furred monster charging them, and yelled in pain as its teeth sank through his sleeve and into the flesh of his forearm. Then it flung him aside with astonishing strength and seized Charlotte's bare white arm. Its teeth flashed, then it turned and bounded away, leaving Bernard and Charlotte staring at the blood running down each other's arms.

Another worgen ran toward them, but saw that they had been bitten, and ran out its tongue and laughed instead. It leaped out a nearby window, and they heard screams as it mangled someone else.

"Why did it leave us alone?" whispered Charlotte.

"We're bitten," said Bernard grimly. "We're now under the worgen curse, just like them."

Charlotte looked at the blood running down her arm in horror. "We're ... going to turn into one of those things?"

"Let's get back to our rooms," said Bernard. "Can you stand?"

He helped Charlotte climb to her feet, and pulled up one layer of her dress to wrap around her wound. She colored slightly at the impropriety of this, but did not protest.

The worgen left them alone as they slowly made their way out of the slaughterhouse that had been the ballroom, through the entrance hall that was strewn with the bodies of the servants, and up the stairs to their personal rooms. Bernard made for his own room out of habit.

As he opened his door (in relief, as his rooms were untouched by worgen), Charlotte made a funny sound. "I know you've never been in here, but it's all right," he started to say. Then he saw that she was looking at her hands. They were lengthening, her fingernails thickening and curving into claws.

He pulled her into the room and closed the door. "Charlotte," he said, "are you wearing a corset?"

Her attention snapped away from her hands, and she glared at him. "How dare you ask such a thing!"

Charlotte's eyes had already turned yellow.

"Charlotte," he said, "if you transform while you're wearing a corset, it will probably crush your internal organs."

"Oh," she said, looking down at herself. "Yes, I am. Buttons on the back of my dress."

He helped her undress, thinking that at any other time, he would have loved doing this. But now his own hands were rapidly changing into long, thick-fingered claws, and he could hardly undo the buttons. Beneath her clothes was fur, and she was beginning to wheeze and gasp as her body changed shapes.

Finally Bernard hooked his fore-claws through her corset and ripped downward, peeling it off her like the skin off a banana. Charlotte tore the rest of it off and kicked off her ruined dress, then dropped to all fours, groaning. She was a white worgen, looking almost like a wolf, but for the length of her arms and legs.

Bernard tore off his own clothing, thankful that his was not as restrictive. He was deep gray marked with brown, and his transformation had made him huge. He stood up experimentally on two legs, and touched the nine-foot ceiling with one hand. He felt a wry surge of satisfaction. For the first time in his life, he was tall.

Charlotte huddled on the floor, ears flattened to her head, peering up at him. "We're monsters," she whimpered.

He dropped to all fours and bent over her. "Not completely. The elixir I made you drink let us retain our human minds."

She lifted her head and looked at him hopefully. "Will it let us transform back into humans?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I hadn't yet tested it. I was only trying to preserve the humanity of the mind, and it seems that I have succeeded."

He walked over to his full length mirror and stood in front of it, examining himself thoughtfully. After a moment, Charlotte got up and stood beside him. "Oh," she whispered. "I'm horrible!"

"You liked the way you looked," said Bernard, examining his teeth in the mirror, then flexing his muscles, turning to look at his back. "I never did."

Charlotte stepped away, glaring in scorn. "You're such a boy, Bernard! Look at you, preening!" She turned her back and sat down on her haunches. "You don't have to like it so much."

Bernard felt bad. He walked to her and sat down beside her. They sat in silence a moment.

"What do we do now?" said Charlotte. "We can't stay here, can we?"

"We'll either be shot as monsters, or taken back to the worgen pens," said Bernard. "Such a shame. I could make lots more of the elixir. It might let people who are worgen at present regain their sanity."

"Where should we go?" asked Charlotte, voice trembling.

Bernard thought for a moment. "To the Blackwald. We can live out there until this dies down, then I might be able to contact Kryn."

They sat for a moment longer. Charlotte wanted to cry, but she was too shocked. She kept staring at her muscled, white-furred forearms, and her long pink and brown claws. Their worgen bites had vanished when they had transformed.

Bernard rose to two legs. "Well, no point sitting around here. Let's see if we can salvage any food."

He shambled to the door, and Charlotte rose and followed him. This body walked on two legs all right, but if she moved any faster, she tended to fall forward onto all fours.

The house was quiet now, but their sensitive noses were clogged with the stench of blood, death, and spoiled food. As they picked their way between the bodies of the dead servants, Charlotte whispered, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," to each one.

The wild worgen had been in the kitchen. Food lay trampled and spoiled all over the floor, but a good deal remained on the counters and in the pantries. Bernard clumsily picked up a box and began loading food into it, but Charlotte slapped his claws away and did it herself. Even though her hands were also clawed, hers were smaller and more dainty, better at handling small objects.

Bernard found a cloth sack that had once held vegetables, and they shoved the loaded box into it. Charlotte slung it around her neck and carried it on her back, and they hurried outdoors. The silence of the mansion weighed on their nerves, and they expected any moment to hear either gunshots, or the clicking claws of approaching worgen.

Outdoors it smelled better, and Bernard felt safer without oppressive walls around him. "I can see in the dark," he said in surprise, looking around.

Charlotte was also surprised. "I didn't expect this. It's like twilight instead of night."

Bernard dropped to all fours. "There's still worgen around. Stay close." He bounded away across their yard, and Charlotte loped after him on all fours. It was the natural way to run.


	2. Chapter 2

The pair loped down the sloping lawn, crossed the creek at the bottom that divided their property from the next, and trotted uphill toward the trees that crowned the hills behind Halfmoon Manor. Their property sat on the edge of the Graymane City limits, backed up against the Blackwald woods. There were woods and hills for many miles south of the Graymane Wall, where the city was built.

He crested a hill and stopped, panting. Charlotte padded up beside him and sat down, tongue hanging out as she panted. "I'm not used to this," she gasped. "This bag is heavy, too."

"Let me take it," he said, holding out a paw. She pulled the strap off gratefully and handed it to him. He slung it over his own shoulder and shrugged to settle it against his back.

"Where should we go?" asked Charlotte.

"Away from humans," said Bernard, wishing that he was more certain. "Away from worgen, too. Just until everything cools off."

"But what about shelter?" said Charlotte, dangerously close to whining. She pointed at the semi-cloudy sky. "What about when it rains?"

"We'll find a cave," said Bernard. He rose to all fours and padded off, breaking into another long-legged lope. He didn't want to sit around and listen to her fears, especially not when this new body of his cried out for movement.

Charlotte pounded after him, hating every step she took. She hated the fur on her arms, she hated her long nose, she hated the feel of her teeth against her tongue. She directed all of her helpless fury at Bernard. If he hadn't have given her that elixir, she would probably be dead now, or at least insane. And either of those would be better than being stuck as a monster forever, perfect conscious of what she was. Blast him!

Bernard had no idea of her feelings. For the first time in his life, he was strong. He could run fast, and for a long time. He didn't have his portly body to shame him and let him down whenever he tried to do something athletic. He was tall, even. To him, being a worgen was a vast improvement.

Bernard's nose was suddenly filled with the odor of filthy dog. He stopped and whirled, sniffing. It was very close. Charlotte smelled it, too, and forgot her hatred of Bernard in her fright. She pressed close to him.

The outline of another worgen flitted through the trees a short distance away. They glimpsed the flash of red eyes. Bernard bared his teeth to their roots, and the hair on his shoulders and back rose like spines on a porcupine. "Snarl!" he hissed at Charlotte.

She bared her teeth in a pathetic imitation of a snarl.

Fortunately it was enough to warn away the wild worgen. It skirted around them and galloped north without a sound. Bernard and Charlotte continued south, hearts pounding. "You've got to learn to snarl," said Bernard. "They bluff a lot."

"Unlike you, I didn't handle dogs much," said Charlotte. "I spent my time among civilized company."

"Very little of that in the forest," said Bernard.

They ran on without speaking. Bernard paused now and then to sniff and look around. He knew that the southeastern side of the peninsula was broken and rocky, and he had heard of people finding caves in the hills. He led them on a zigzag course toward the southeast, but the peninsula was larger than he had thought, even with his long worgen legs to carry him.

Dawn paled the sky as they descended a gentle hill and plunged into young, brushy forest. There were brambles and thickets and vines, and a tantalizing scent of rabbits.

Bernard and Charlotte drank from a stream, and crept into a stickery cave under a raspberry hedge. Bernard took the food bag off his back, and they shared pies, bread and cheese, broken into pieces with their claws. The pair were ravenous, and the bread didn't satisfy their stomachs the way it had when they were human.

But it was food, and neither of them complained. Charlotte curled up with her back to Bernard and went to sleep. He crawled as far from her as he could get in their cramped, thorny shelter, and fell asleep, himself.

Bernard awoke hours later in fright, the fur on his back bristling. He opened his eyes, but did not move a muscle. Charlotte lay pressed to the ground, ears flattened against her skull. Outside were the voices of humans, and the fwoosh and crash of magefire. Worgen voices howled and wailed, and the smell of burned hair and flesh filtered through the leaves overhead.

"They're hunting them," he whispered.

Charlotte rolled one yellow eye at him. "They're hunting us."

Neither of them dared move until the human voices had moved off into the distance, and the wind had carried away the stench of magical burning. Bernard thought he recognized the magical signatures of some of the Mage Society mages, whom he had worked with for so long. "We're just monsters now," he thought with a twist in his stomach. "They'll try to destroy us, the way I always thought we should."

He uncurled himself and nudged Charlotte with his nose. "I think it's safe now."

She cringed away from him, and he squeezed past her, out of the hedge. He stood up on two legs, slowly, looking, listening and sniffing. The woods were quiet, but birds were singing again. It was cloudy and hard to tell the sun's position, but Bernard thought that it was around noon. The breeze was from the west, and he faintly smelled human.

He dropped to all fours and said, "Charlotte, they're moving off west. If we keep on going south we'll avoid them."

She did not speak, only crawled out of the hedge, dragging the food bag in her teeth. She slung it over her shoulders and sighed. The pair drank from the stream again, then Bernard led the way through the brush, keeping low and stopping often to listen for enemies.

They traveled several miles this way, following the rise and fall of the land and keeping to the lowest areas where the brush was thickest. They happened across the charred corpses of three worgen. There was little left of them, and Bernard and Charlotte gave them a wide berth. What troubled Bernard more than the deaths of the worgen was how good their blackened meat smelled. He wasn't sure that he liked the sudden appetite of this new body.

As the gloomy, overcast afternoon faded into gray evening, they entered rocky, broken country. Rock outcroppings burst from the ground like the shattered bones of ancient monsters, and here grew scrubby trees and little brush. Bernard left Charlotte sitting among the rocks, resting, her pale fur blending with her surroundings. He scrambled among the outcroppings, sniffing and listening, pausing atop boulders to look around. He could hear and smell the sea, a few miles away, and had a clear view of the forest edge.

After a while the rock outcroppings drew together in a bare limestone ridge scored with cracks and small rockfalls. Bernard loped along this, nosing into all the crannies, and found a handful of small, shallow caves. None deep enough to provide any sort of shelter. He followed the ridge as it curved back west, and finally found found what he sought: a cave that delved back into the cliff face a good distance.

He stepped cautiously into the cave and sniffed. Other animals had used this cave, but none recently. The floor was sharp, broken gravel, along with leaves and dry bones here and there. Twenty feet in, the cave ended in a smooth wall. Here was a deep nest of sticks and leaves, and plucked hair from some animal. Bernard sniffed it thoroughly, but it had been abandoned for at least a season.

He left the cave and trotted back to fetch Charlotte. He found her in the same spot, trying to comb her neck fur with her claws. "I found a cave," he announced.

She gave him a condescending look. "Did you now."

"Yes." He hesitated. "It's shelter, at least."

Charlotte sighed and stood up. "Lead the way, then."

She was unimpressed with the cave when they arrived. She walked in and out of it, gave a disdainful sniff, and sat down in the entrance. "I suppose it's better than bushes."

Bernard gave her up as a bad job and trotted off into the rocks. He couldn't deny his new body its cravings any longer. He wanted meat.

Hunting was harder than he had thought, though. He saw many rabbits, but they outran him and vanished into burrows in the rocks. Then it occurred to him to stalk a rabbit from downwind, so it wouldn't scent him and run away. He managed to catch a rabbit then, killing it with an bite to the throat. Then Bernard went away for a little while as his body's instincts took over.

Afterward he washed himself in a small pool he found among the rocks. Meat satisfied him, but he was horrified at the way his brain seemed to switch off when it came time to kill and gorge. Also, one rabbit was not nearly enough meat. He needed two or three more.

He finally returned to the cave near sundown, having eaten more rabbits and feeling full and sleepy. He had thought about bringing Charlotte a rabbit, but he knew that she would squeal and fuss and refuse to touch it.

Charlotte waited around the cave all afternoon, and as the sun sank, she helped herself to a little more food. Bernard had not returned. She wondered if he had been killed by the mages. Good riddance. She lost herself in thoughts of returning to her house, dressing in human clothes, and confronting the humans with the news that she was not mad and dangerous. She was still herself. Why could they not let her go on living at her manor? She might have to wear concealing clothes and a veil, but life could go on ...

As the sun was setting, a worgen appeared out of the rocks and loped toward her. She leaped to her feet, and bared her teeth. The worgen stopped and ran out his tongue. "We've got to teach you to snarl."

"Oh, it's you." She dropped back to all fours. "I thought the mages had gotten you."

"I've been hunting," said Bernard, walking past her into the cave. "I'm tired. You think it's all right if I sleep in the nest back here?"

"Help yourself," said Charlotte. She sat on her haunches in the cave entrance, her shoulders stiff with dislike. Bernard was too full and sleepy to care. He pushed and shoved the nest until he made it the right size, then curled up and fell asleep.

Charlotte sat and watched the sunset color the clouds deep pink and purple. Then the color died away to gray, deepening to black. Bernard might have brought her whatever he had hunted, the inconsiderate brute. Now he was sleeping it off, and here she sat with that deep hunger inside of her.

Raindrops began to spatter off the stones outside. Soon it was a downpour, casting a soft sheen over the night. Charlotte grew cold and damp, and retreated further and further into the cave. She wished that they could make a fire, but there was no wood, and Bernard was the one with the mage abilities. She thought ruefully of sitting in magic class, passing notes to her girlfriends and ignoring the teacher, even when he summoned fire in four different colors. Her mother had been a practiced mage, but her father had been a paladin of the Silver Hand, and had been slain in the War.

Charlotte shivered and crept back to the nest, where Bernard lay curled in a vast furry ball, snoring away. She lay down on the hard floor outside the nest and curled up, herself. It was still cold, but she managed to fall asleep anyway.

The next few days passed slowly. Their human food ran out, and it fell to Bernard to hunt for them. Charlotte refused to hunt, and ate only what he brought her. After the first bite, she never complained about raw meat.

Bernard was a poor hunter, and even though he was a worgen now, his muscles were not strong. He needed more food than he could catch.

He lay on the floor of the cave, head on his forepaws. His hind feet were sore and bruised from climbing over rocks, and he couldn't seem to stop being hungry. Charlotte sat watching him with her hands folded in her lap, as if she still wore skirts. "Are you a mage?" she asked.

"Sort of," said Bernard without lifting his head. His moving jaw bumped his head up and down. "I can perform basic spells, but I was always more interested in alchemy."

"Can you conjure food?" asked Charlotte.

Bernard sat up and cupped his clawed hands together. A dim greenish light flickered between his hands, and his ears pointed backward in concentration. The light flickered and went out, and in his hands lay three crackers. He handed them to Charlotte with a sigh. She tasted one. "It's not bad. Can you make more?"

"I suppose." Bernard conjured three more times, producing three crackers each time. He ate one handful and gave the rest to Charlotte. "Now I have to rest."

"Can you conjure meat?" she asked through a mouthful of cracker.

"No," said Bernard with a sigh. "Mages have tried for years, but the best they can do is various types of breads. Some mages can do pastries and cakes, even."

Charlotte finished her crackers and licked her claws. "Why don't we go back?"

He lifted his head. "Go back?"

"Yes, to Halfmoon."

Bernard frowned. "But we'd be killed before anyone knew we were sane."

"Not necessarily," said Charlotte. "We could dress up in clothes, and I could wear a veil ... no one need know we were worgen until after we had explained."

"I doubt it would be that easy," said Bernard, dropping his head to his paws again. "Charlotte, can you do any magic?"

"No," said Charlotte regretfully. "My mother wanted me to learn, but I never picked it up. I wasn't interested in magic."

"What are you interested in?" asked Bernard. He didn't know much about her, he thought. He might as well learn about her, even if he did find her terribly dull.

Charlotte liked talking about herself. She explained about clothes and makeup, and the thrill of political social maneuvering to gain more popularity. She explained about dieting and eating small portions of light foods so as not to spoil her figure. But as she talked, her bright tone faded, and she looked down at her fur-covered body. "But I guess none of that matters much now," she concluded. "Most of the nobility were killed or bitten. I'm a beast now." She dropped down onto her belly and laid her head on her forepaws.

"It's not so bad," said Bernard, stretching out a paw and resting it on her shoulder. "At least we're together."

She rolled one eye at him as if to say, "So what?"

Bernard told her about his alchemy experiments, and how he and the other mages had always disagreed with Arugal's methods, and his worgen army. He lamented that he had not had a chance to give his elixir to the other mages. "They could be vaccinating all the humans at this very moment," he moaned. "They could be testing it on people who had already transformed. And here I sit, unable to contact anyone."

Charlotte's ears pricked up, and she lifted her head. "I want to go back to our manor, and you want to contact the mages. Why don't we go do that?"

He lifted his head and stared at her. "What? Now?"

"Of course." She stood up. "We're both hungry, and the sun is going down. We can hunt on the way."

Bernard regarded her doubtfully. "But you've never been hunting."

Charlotte smiled at him, running out her tongue.

He heaved himself onto all fours with a sigh. He did want to contact the other mages.

As they loped out of their cave and through the rocks down toward the forest's edge, Bernard pondered contacting the mages. If his alchemy lab had not been destroyed, he might be able to find and use his scrollstone. Perhaps he could draft an explanation to Kryn, if he still lived.

Bernard circled to bring the evening breeze into his nose, but Charlotte kept straight on. Bernard smelled nothing dangerous, and trotted after Charlotte, annoyed. He put on a burst of speed and caught up to her. "Stay with me," he warned her in a low voice. "We have to check for enemies as we travel, or we might walk right into hunters or worgen."

She gave him a sarcastic look, but fell into step beside him. "How do you know so much?" she asked. "I never saw you go outside much at all."

Bernard pondered. "I have read quite extensively, you know. And I think that being a worgen agrees with me. I go along with this body's instincts, and they teach me things."

Charlotte looked at Bernard sideways as they ran. She did see why he enjoyed his new body. He had traded his flab for an extra hundred pounds of muscle.

She followed him as he circled to catch the breeze, and imitated him as he sniffed. She was surprised to smell the world so clearly. Damp earth, cold leaves, warm rabbits, mice, birds, owls ... a distant reek of worgen. No human, though.

"Worgen?" she said.

"Yes," said Bernard through his teeth. "Not close, but not far enough for me." He lowered his head and loped into the forest's edge, and Charlotte followed him.

"I've never tried to smell things before," she admitted. "I didn't realize our noses were so strong."

"It makes up for losing color," said Bernard.

"What?" said Charlotte.

"Didn't you notice?" said Bernard. "I'm not exactly colorblind now, but all the colors are much more faded than they used to be."

Charlotte looked around at the trees and underbrush, but it was growing dark and there wasn't much color anyway. "That might make color-coordinating my wardrobe a little difficult," she said.

Bernard gave a laugh like a bark. Charlotte had never heard him laugh before. "What's so funny?"

"It all comes back to clothes," he said. "Haven't you noticed that you have white fur?"

"Dirty white," said Charlotte in disgust.

"You're the first white worgen I've seen," said Bernard. "As worgen go, you're very feminine looking."

"I am?" Charlotte warmed inside. "I'm not a hideous monster?"

"No more than me," said Bernard, grinning. "Hold up." He jogged to a halt, and Charlotte stopped behind him. Like a wolf, he stood sideways to the object he was studying, and she peered over his shoulder.

Another worgen stood under the trees, a grey brute even larger than Bernard.

Bernard bared his teeth and bristled, and Charlotte backed away.

"Charlotte, snarl at him!" roared Bernard through his teeth.

Oh, right. Charlotte bared her teeth and did her best to make her fur stand up. The other worgen stood still, looking at both of them and growling, then turned and faded into the forest.

"You have to help me posture at them," said Bernard, relaxing his snarl and letting the fur on his back lay down again. "A lone worgen won't take on two of us. Come on." They trotted on.

"What happens if we have to fight one?" said Charlotte.

"Go for the throat, of course," said Bernard. "It's the weakest point."

"No, I mean, do I have to fight?" said Charlotte. "Do you know how?"

"No," said Bernard. "I'd rather we frighten them off than fight them."

The forest darkened, but the pair could still see. It was as if the forest was outlined in black and gray. Bernard paused often now to sniff and listen, and Charlotte imitated him. She figured that he was hunting, because she was hungry again, too.

Beyond that, she didn't know if she was still angry at him for their situation. Her thoughts were in a muddle now when it came to Bernard. He was kind, and trying to teach her to survive in his insensitive, masculine way. She wanted him to approve of her, so she worked on recognizing scents and listening to the strange sounds in the night woods.

A delicious smell brushed their noses, and as one they halted and sniffed. "What is that?" breathed Charlotte.

"I don't know," said Bernard. "Let's find out, but carefully." He slunk off in the direction of the smell, keeping below the line of the underbrush.

Charlotte followed him, trying to identify the smell to herself. It was definitely meat. Something like roast beef, with a deep spicy musk to it. Something cooked out of doors for a long time.

Thus she was shocked when they came upon a deer browsing at the edge of a clearing. Something smelled that good and it was still alive? She shuddered.

"Circle around the clearing," Bernard whispered to her. "It will scent you and run straight into me."

Still shuddering, and yet with her mouth watering, she crept off around the edge of the clearing, keeping an eye on the deer. It lifted its head and stared in her direction. She froze. After a long moment, it returned to browsing, but kept its ears turned in her direction. She inched onward, trying not to make a sound. A twig cracked under one forepaw, and the deer startled and bounded into the brush.

Bernard lunged from hiding and struck it with the force of a cannonball. Both of them fell to the ground in a tangle of thrashing limbs. Charlotte bounded toward them, not sure what to do, but by the time she reached Bernard, he already had his teeth buried in the deer's throat. It was flailing at him with its forefeet, so Charlotte jumped on it and pinned it down.

When the deer stopped moving, Bernard let go of it and looked at Charlotte in amazement. "You helped me."

"I didn't want you to get hurt," she said. Now that she thought about it, she was amazed at herself. She looked at their prey. "Do we eat it raw?"

"Yes," said Bernard, and showed her how to use her claws.

They delayed their journey for the rest of the night. They gorged themselves on fresh meat, then slept, then awoke to eat some more. Feeling full and satisfied felt wonderful.

They spent an entire night and a day beside the carcass, slowly picking it clean. They didn't prepare to move on until they had eaten everything edible and gnawed the bones to sharpen their teeth. Then they washed in a pond, because as Charlotte pointed out, no human would think them sentient if they were covered in dried blood. Their claws worked well for carving up flesh, but not as well for cleaning faces and fur. "Lick your fur," said Bernard, trying it. "It's like a hairbrush."

Charlotte tried it, and discovered that her wide, flat tongue did indeed work well to clean her fur. She looked at her reflection in the water and tried to reach her forehead, but her tongue wasn't long enough.

"Here," said Bernard, leaning toward her. Without thinking, she bent her head and let him lick her face. It reminded her of when her servants would brush and fix her hair, and she felt herself relax.

"There," said Bernard. "Would you mind washing my face, too?"

Charlotte licked his face in return, and as she did, it slowly dawned on her what a strange thing she was doing. It was as if she had walked into his rooms and was grooming him herself, without any servants at all. Almost as if she liked him.

She broke off and stepped back, embarrassed. He still had a few flecks of rust in his fur, but she said, "All clean now."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, smiling at her. Then he turned and trotted off north, and Charlotte followed him.


	3. Chapter 3

Their stopover to eat their fill of meat had subtly changed them. Both felt stronger and more confident, and their bellies lacked that deep, gnawing hunger. Their starved muscles had received the protein they so desperately needed.

Not that they knew this. Bernard only knew that he felt better than he had the night of the ball, and that running uphill was not so tiring as it used to be.

Charlotte did not notice at all. She was pondering the location of her clothing in the manor, and wondering if anyone had looted it or moved into it in their stead.

The morning wore on, and the sun broke through the clouds for a few hours. The woods were dense and green with new growth, and birds sang in the canopy overhead. Charlotte followed Bernard's bounding gray shape, and only paid attention to their surroundings when he stopped to sniff the breeze.

Finally he murmured, "We're almost there."

Charlotte snapped out of her thoughts at once, and peered around. "Now that you mention it, I recognize these trees," she said. "I once had a playhouse right over there."

They listened and sniffed, but there were no enemies nearby. They could smell woodsmoke and humans, which grew stronger as they neared the outskirts of Graymane City. They crept on, wary and alert.

Finally they arrived at the foot of their own back lawn. Bernard dropped to his belly and peered out of a a tangle of saplings, and Charlotte imitated him. The mansion looked dark and deserted, and many windows on the first floor were broken. They watched, listened and smelled, but their senses told them that the place was abandoned.

"I want to check my laboratory," murmured Bernard, circling around the edge of the yard, keeping to the cover of the trees. Charlotte trotted out onto the lawn, then shrank back into the trees. She had become so accustomed to hiding that venturing out in the open felt dangerous.

They had to cut along the side of the mansion to reach the laboratory. As they reached the steps leading up to the veranda, Charlotte whimpered, "Please may I look inside?"

Bernard halted with one forefoot upraised, and heaved a sigh. "All right, but hurry. It's too quiet."

Charlotte leaped up on the veranda, trotted to one of the doors, and tried the knob. It felt strangely small in her paw, like the door to a dollhouse. But it turned and swung open, and she stepped into the rear sitting room.

All the furniture was gone. The carpet was damp and smelled of mold, and holes had been knocked in the walls where looters had removed the furnishings in a hurry. She snorted in disgust and walked from the sitting room to the rear hall, and from there to the ballroom, which still stank of death. All the bodies were gone. She wondered uneasily how many of them were now worgen.

The mansion was empty and silent, and yet its very silence pressed down on Charlotte's mind like a weight. This had ceased to be her house. This was the dwelling place of strangers.

She ran up the stairs in three bounds and arrived at her rooms. They had been stripped as well, and she gazed in sad indignation at the scrapes across the wooden floorboards. So much for her idea of dressing up as a human.

She walked down the stairs one at a time, trailing her claws along the polished banister. What to do now? She had no idea.

Bernard awaited her in the ballroom, where he was sniffing the floor and snorting. "There you are," he said as she appeared in the doorway. "Lots of death here, lots of people transformed, too. Are our rooms stripped?"

She nodded.

He shrugged. "I thought so. Let's check my laboratory. At the very least my scrollstone will still be there. It's locked down by magic."

They jumped out of the ballroom windows, and Bernard galloped around the back of the mansion toward his laboratory. There he slowed down and listened, ears uplifted. Charlotte jogged to a halt beside him. "What is it?"

"Someone's inside," he growled, and slunk toward the door. It was propped open with a broken chair. Charlotte hung back, ready to run.

Bernard moved until he could see inside the door from a distance, and his growl rose to a terrible snarl. Charlotte had never seen him so hideous, even when facing other worgen. She moved up beside him and followed his gaze.

Inside Bernard's laboratory stood a tall, robed man with a gray beard. He carried a long scythe in one hand, and with the other he was paging through one of Bernard's notebooks.

Bernard stalked toward the door, still snarling. His growl formed words. "Arugal!"

The archmage looked up, and smiled. "Ah, Bernard Preston. I see that your little experiment was a success."

Bernard stood in the doorway, filling it so completely that Charlotte had to peer under his forelegs to keep Arugal in sight. "Aren't you afraid of me?" thundered Bernard.

"Why, no," said Arugal pleasantly. "I've been hoping that you would turn up. You cannot harm me, you know. I bear the Scythe." He gestured at Bernard with it.

Bernard backed up and sat down on his haunches heavily, as if he had been shoved. Charlotte scrambled away and stood at a short distance, panting in fright. Arugal had not yet seen her, so she crept around the corner of the lab to keep out of his line of sight.

"I found a treatment to the worgen curse," said Bernard hoarsely, no longer able even to snarl. "I tried it on myself the night they broke free."

"And retained your sanity," said Arugal, stroking his beard with his free hand. "Yes, I've been reading your notes with great interest. Have you managed to reverse the transformation?"

"No," said Bernard. "That would have been the next stage of the experiment."

"Fascinating," said Arugal, turning his back on Bernard and walking across the room. Bernard could see that his alchemy apparatus had been smashed, mingled potions in a smelly mess all over the floor. But his scrollstone was still in place. Bernard could not see if it still held a scroll, and with a sinking heart he realized that Arugal would have retrieved it first, anyway. Bernard could not move, held by a silent command from the Scythe. He glanced at Charlotte, and was relieved to see that she was hiding.

"I had heard that the mage society was seeking a cure for the worgen curse," said Arugal, picking up a book and setting it carefully on the work table, beside Bernard's notebook. He knelt, picked up a scrap of paper from the floor, and laid it on top of the books. "I had not realized that they were so close to finding one. This curse was not laid by a mortal, you see, and thus cannot be lifted by a mortal. But you seem to have gotten around that by modifying the curse's effects. Most ingenious."

Arugal snapped his fingers, and the books and paper leaped into flame.

"No!" cried Bernard, but he could not lift a finger.

Arugal stepped out of the laboratory and gestured inside with the Scythe. Bernard got up and walked inside, where Arugal once more forced him to sit. Sparks from the burning books drifted into Bernard's fur, and he winced.

"It was convenient of you to show up today," said Arugal, smiling. "I knew that I must take steps to destroy your work, and you, as well. You saved me the trouble of looking for you out in the woods." He closed the laboratory door, turned the lock, and walked off, swinging the Scythe and whistling.

Charlotte watched him go, the odor of burning wood and paper heavy in her nostrils. She dared not stir until Arugal had departed out the front gates. Then she rushed around to the front of the lab, clumsily unlocked the door, and flung it open.

Bernard still sat beside the burning table, immobilized by the Scythe's command. The little room had filled with smoke, and the flames were licking at the wall behind the table. Charlotte rushed in, grabbed him by one arm, and pulled him toward the door. She feared that he might be frozen to the ground by magic, but as soon as she forced him to move, he was able to rise and bound out the door himself.

"Thank you," he said, and coughed until he gagged.

Charlotte watched the flames climb the wall and lick toward the bookcase. "Should I try to save anything?"

Bernard nodded, hardly able to speak. "Books," he gasped.

Charlotte ducked inside, flinched away from the fire's heat, and pulled down an entire shelf of books. She carried them outside, dumped them on the grass, and returned for another armload.

She managed to save everything on the bookcase, but Bernard's notes were nothing but ash. The pair sat at a safe distance, watching smoke billow from the door and windows, Bernard still hacking and wheezing. Gradually he recovered, and watched his lab burn with his ears flattened to his head.

Charlotte looked at him anxiously. "Is the antidote completely lost now?"

"Of course not," said Bernard, but his yellow eyes were sorrowful. "I still have the formula in my head. But the elixir takes many stages to create, and all of my editions and ingredient lists are gone. I'll have to start from scratch."

"Assuming he doesn't kill us," muttered Charlotte. "I never knew the archmage was so wicked."

"I knew he liked worgen," said Bernard. "I just didn't realize how much." He would have said more, but there came a high-pitched whistling that grew louder and louder, until a bolt of blue light splashed on the grass at their feet, frosting the grass.

"Run!" barked Bernard. The pair whirled and sprinted for the woods, calling on the swift speed of their race. Behind them, more frostbolts splattered the ground with ice, and others descended on the burning building as mages approached to deal with the fire.

"What about your books?" panted Charlotte as they gained the cover of the trees.

"The mages will salvage them," panted Bernard. "They're valuable."

They ran for two miles, then had to stop to rest and drink at a pond. Bernard threw himself down on his side, and gasped for breath. "Thanks for pulling me out of there," he told Charlotte between breaths. "I felt the command give way as soon as you touched me."

"You would have died," said Charlotte, eyes wide. Now that she had time to think about what she had witnessed, she was sickened and horrified. The archmage had tried to kill Bernard! She thought of how calmly Arugal had forced Bernard inside the burning building, and then locked the door on him. She had to sit down, because her legs had begun to shake.

They rested for a long while. Bernard brooded on the knowledge that Arugal supported the worgen outbreak. He supposed that once everyone had been contaminated, then Arugal could rule them all with that Scythe of his. He wondered if the other humans knew, and figured that they probably didn't.

Underneath that, he felt a warm grateful glow to Charlotte for rescuing him. He wanted to thank her with more than words, somehow, but he didn't know what she might accept. A gift of extra food? He really just wanted to cuddle her, but he knew that she would not appreciate that.

Charlotte dozed on the edge of the stream, and her trembling gradually subsided. After a while she sat up again, and found Bernard watching her with a wistful expression. As soon as she met his eyes, he looked away. "Shall we go back to the cave?"

"I suppose," she said, rising to two legs, then stiffly dropping to all fours. "Unless you wanted to try to contact the other mages about Arugal."

Bernard looked at her sharply. "You didn't want to try to find clothes or anything?"

She gave him a hopeless look. "It's all gone, Bernard. And no one could mistake me for a human anyway. Look at me." She indicated one crooked hind leg.

He heaved a sigh. "The mage tower is on the eastern side of the city. If I could just get close enough to speak to someone, I might be able to convince them to listen to me before they kill me outright."

Charlotte didn't want to venture back into danger so soon. "Let's go slowly," she begged. "And hunt on the way." Hunting took extra time. She didn't want to risk losing Bernard again so soon.

They set off toward the southeast, making a wide circuit around the outskirts of Graymane City. They went at a walk, pausing often to listen and smell for enemies. This area was thick with the scent of both humans and worgen. Humans smelled revolting to their feral-attuned noses, something like rotting onions. "Who would want to bite something that smelled that bad?" Charlotte asked at one point.

"Animals get a taste for human blood," said Bernard with a shrug. "I imagine you'd get used to it somehow."

"But other things smell so much better," said Charlotte.

As they walked, Charlotte wondered why she was so afraid of losing Bernard. She had come to depend on him, and he knew so much more about hunting and surviving. Losing him meant losing her last contact with civilization.

But as she thought about it, she realized that she was growing fond of Bernard as a person, too. She hadn't wanted him to burn alive in the laboratory ... that was an unspeakably horrible death for anyone. She wished that she could lick his face again, but she was uncertain as to what such a gesture might mean. Licking with a worgen tongue wasn't exactly like kissing as a human, but she was afraid that he might interpret it as such. She felt her face grow hot under her fur, and avoided Bernard's eyes when he looked around at her.

Bernard moved slowly and gingerly, and his breath rasped in his chest. He wondered how badly he had damaged his lungs, and wistfully wondered if a priest's healing touch would work on a worgen body.

After a while, their noses told them that they were nearing the outskirts of the town again. Bernard slowed to a walk, and Charlotte moved up beside him. "Are we close?"

"Yes," he said softly, peering through a clump of ferns. He lifted one claw and pointed to a cluster of houses with a tower rearing up just beyond them. "That's the Mage Tower. I'm not smelling many worgen, are you?"

Charlotte sniffed, carefully sorting through the scents. Human refuse, animals, soap, cooking, and unwashed bodies. No worgen. "No," she said softly. "How are we going to do this? This is the forest edge. Look, there's fields around the tower and everything."

The space around the Mage Tower had been cleared for many acres to make room for farmland and pasturage for animals. No cover for large predators like themselves.

"Should we wait for nightfall?" said Charlotte.

Bernard stared out at the fields. "No," he said. "At night, we'll be only monsters. Let's wait until sunset."

They stretched out in the fern, side by side, and watched the distant humans go about their business. The rain that had threatened all morning finally came pelting down, and they just humped their backs and put up with it.

"How will we keep them from killing us from a distance?" Charlotte ventured.

"I'm not sure," said Bernard quietly. "I'm also worried that the mages have put anti-worgen warding around the place. Notice how nobody seems worried about worgen attacking."

Charlotte watched a woman shoo three lambs out of the rain and into a shed.

"I don't want to lose you," Charlotte muttered.

Bernard looked at her, water dripping down his muzzle. "Why not?"

"Because ..." Charlotte sorted through her muddled feelings. "Because I think I love you."

Bernard gazed at her for a long time. She kept her eyes on the damp ferns, watching water trickle down the fronds and hang them with tiny beads.

He ran out his tongue in a smile. "I think I love you, too."

"Oh." Charlotte didn't know what to say. "I ... you do?"

"I think I've loved you for years," said Bernard quietly, eyes focused on the tower in the distance. "Not that I've had romantic feelings much, but ... I always felt something toward you."

They fell silent for a while, listening to the rain pattering all around and inhaling the smells of the nearby houses.

"I never knew you very well," said Charlotte. "I never knew how ... kind you were. You always ignored me when I talked to you."

"Because you only ever talked about yourself," said Bernard. "Not exactly the best dinner conversation. But you know, I always did enjoy hearing your voice."

They talked for hours as the sun sank and the rain rolled away northward to dampen Silverpine Forest. They had grown to depend on each other and even trust each other, and Charlotte's respect for Bernard had grown exponentially. Not such a bad foundation for a relationship.

And she did not want to lose him now, not after she had come to see how he truly was beneath his unassuming human exterior.

Bernard rose to all fours and stretched. "It's time," he said.

Charlotte stood up, too, and they shook the wet from their fur. Then Bernard nuzzled her face with sudden affection. A day ago, Charlotte would have resented such familiarity. But now she welcomed it, and nuzzled him back. She would have kissed him, but worgen lips did not kiss so well. She licked him instead, and he understood.

"Pity we only figure ourselves out here at the end," he said, ears and whiskers drooping. "If I don't make it, remember that I loved you." He trotted out into the open, and Charlotte followed at a short distance.

They followed a shallow hill down, crossed a small brook, and trotted uphill again, toward the houses.


	4. Chapter 4

Midway up the hill, they struck the anti-worgen barrier.

It was like encountering a nasty burst of heat that made their limbs tremble and collapse, and their hearts skip. Bernard hit it first, and as he staggered backwards, Charlotte ran up to see what was the matter and struck it, too. They reeled backward and sat down.

"What was that?" gasped Charlotte, one hand on her racing heart.

"That is the barrier," said Bernard, shaking his head to clear it. He sat on his haunches and gazed at the spot where the barrier existed. After a while, he said, "I think I can see it. It's sort of a shimmer."

Charlotte squinted. She thought she could see it, too. "So it keeps out worgen?"

"Yes," said Bernard. He slowly rose up on his hind legs and stood as straight and human-like as he could. "But we're not worgen, are we? We're humans." He stretched out one clawed hand and stepped toward the barrier.

When he struck it and the heat and weakness flashed through him, Bernard ground his teeth and pushed on, forcing his human mind to master the weakness of his canine body.

The barrier snapped.

Charlotte ducked, because there was a whistle and a crack, like a whip. Bernard stumbled forward, then stood erect again, fur bristling, but grinning. "I broke through!" he called to her. "Hurry, before they stop us. They're bound to notice that the wards have failed." He dropped to all fours and dashed away, and Charlotte followed, her stomach curling into a knot inside her.

Somewhere a bell began to clang. People darted into houses, where shutters banged shut and doors were barred. "I think they've noticed," panted Charlotte.

"Just run," said Bernard over his shoulder.

The Mage Tower grew ahead of them, looming up against the cloudy sky. As they approached, the door in the bottom opened, and men in armor strode out, carrying gnomish rifles. They took up position on either side of the door, and out of the tower strode a paladin in silver and gold plate armor. He brandished a sword that was as long as he was tall.

Bernard pulled up, and stood up on his hind legs. Charlotte followed his example, and stood beside him.

"I really didn't want you here with me," he muttered out of the side of his mouth.

"We're in this together," she whispered.

Bernard turned to the waiting men, and held both arms above his head. "Please don't shoot," he called. "I've come to offer my services."

Charlotte also raised her paws.

The paladin and riflemen exchanged astonished looks. Then the paladin strode forward a few steps and called, "What is this magic? No worgen can speak once they're transformed."

"My name is Bernard Preston," he said. "I am an alchemist, and I have often worked with the Gilnean Mage Society. On the night of the worgen outbreak, I sent Mage Kryn a letter to notify him that I had had a breakthrough in my elixir. I was creating an elixir to allow a human to retain their mind even if infected by the worgen curse."

The paladin said something to one of the riflemen, who turned and ran inside. Then the paladin motioned to Charlotte with his sword. "And what about her?"

Charlotte straightened. His tone offended the aristocrat within her. "I am Lady Charlotte Preston of Halfmoon Manor and Bernard's wife. He gave me a dose of elixir that night, and I, too, retained my sanity."

Bernard's nostrils had been working as Charlotte spoke, trying to catch the paladin's scent. Now he said, "I know you, paladin. You're Sir Matthew the Deadbreaker, of the Silver Hand."

Sir Matthew did not lower his sword, but he peered at Bernard inquiringly. At that point, Mage Kryn appeared in a sparkle of light just inside the doorway. He stepped up beside the paladin and stared at the two worgen. "Bernard?" he said.

"Kryn!" said Bernard, waving both clawed paws. "The elixir worked! We've retained our sanity ever since the outbreak!"

Kryn's face lit up with the delight of a specialist who has just solved an unsolvable problem. "I got your message that night, Bernard, but then worgen swarmed all over your manor, and we gave you up for dead. Is this Charlotte?"

"Yes," she said haughtily, hiding her uncertainty behind her social mask.

"I'm to bring you inside," said Kryn, then added, "but we do have to take precautions. I'm sorry." He summoned blue light to his fingertips, and launched a small bolt of frost at the ground under their feet. Ice immediately bound their feet to the ground. The cold bit through their fur as Kryn walked out to them.

"It'll be over in a moment," he said, displaying two sets of metal shackles. "I have to bind your wrists, but I'm not to muzzle you."

Charlotte and Bernard held out their arms. "Thank goodness for small favors," Bernard muttered, and Kryn chuckled. He handled their arms gingerly, as if he was half-afraid that they would decide to rip his head off. But of course they did not, and he motioned at the ice on their feet. It melted at once, and he led them toward the tower door with their hands bound before them.

The riflemen and Sir Matthew stepped aside to let them in, and closed in behind them. No one trusted a pair of sentient worgen, no matter how sane they appeared.

The ground floor of the tower was a large round room with staircases running along the walls. Charlotte, who had never been inside the tower before, followed the staircases upward with her eyes, and gasped. The staircases left the walls and criss-crossed overhead, not once but multiple times, curving into tighter and tighter spirals until they reached the top floor.

"Do the mages walk on those?" she asked as they were ushered up the stairs.

"Usually we teleport," said Kryn over his shoulder.

The pair of worgen were ushered up through the tower, and discovered that the spiraling, floating staircases occasionally met the wall in unexpected landings furnished with comfortable chairs and fireplaces.

Charlotte was uncomfortably aware of Sir William's gleaming sword a foot from her back, and the lowered muzzles of the rifles. If the mages suspected treachery, she and Bernard would die at once.

At last they reached the top floor, under the high domed roof of the tower. The wooden floor was covered in brightly-colored rugs, and a fire burned here, too, in a jutting stone fireplace. The wall on either side was taken up with tables covered in alchemical equipment. The rest of the walls sported dozens of shelves full of ingredients in bottles and boxes. Eight mages in blue robes were clustered around the equipment, and turned around with uneasy expressions as the worgen appeared. Many of them fingered jeweled wands or elaborate staves.

Bernard raised his shackled claws in a friendly wave. "Hello everyone, it's Bernard Preston. I had a breakthrough on the elixir."

The mages gaped at him. "This isn't a trick?" said one mage with a gray beard.

"How could it be a trick?" said Charlotte.

"Have a seat," said Kryn, pulling forward two wooden chairs. "Tell us the story in detail."

Charlotte sat down in relief, crossing her long, crooked legs as if she still wore a dress. It occurred to her how long it had been since she had sat in a chair. Bernard sat, too, and launched into the long, involved story of his research and the worgen attack.

The mages listened with growing amazement on their faces, and some returned their wands to their inner pockets and picked up paper and ink quills.

When Bernard finished his story, Kryn picked up his own paper and quill. "Do you remember the methods you used to formulate the successful elixir?"

"Yes," said Bernard. "I've repeated them over and over to myself since the day Arugal burned my laboratory."

"Argual?" the mages muttered to each other. "Arugal is an archmage of the Kirin Tor," said the oldest mage with a condescending smile. "He could not have known what he was doing at the time."

Kryn frowned at Bernard, and Bernard met his eyes and nodded slightly. Kryn cleared his throat. "Anyway! Do let's get this down as quickly as possible."

Bernard began listing off ingredients in precise amounts, and there were so many of them that Charlotte was astonished. She gazed at his profile, and at the determined look on his face, and saw that he had made himself retain all this information. It was far too important to forget.

He finished the ingredients and moved on into the complex times for heating, distilling, brewing, and adding still more ingredients to the results. All of the mages were writing now, except one, who was actually gathering the ingredients from the various shelves and adding them to a small cauldron.

Just as Bernard finished, the tower's door downstairs slammed open. "Where are they?" a male voice roared.

Charlotte and Bernard cowered. They knew that voice.

Archmage Arugal teleported upstairs and stood in the middle of the floor, between the worgen and the mages. His black robes flew about him, and he gripped the Scythe of Elune in both hands as if he meant to ward off attack with it. He whirled to face Charlotte and Bernard, and his eyes blazed as he recognized them.

"These beasts are smarter than the rest!" he bellowed, turning to the mages. But he angled the Scythe at Bernard and Charlotte.

"Kill them all," a voice whispered in Charlotte's ears. Mixed with it was the scent and taste of blood, and the desire to bury her teeth in living flesh. She slipped off the chair onto all fours, resting lightly on her bound hands.

Bernard stood up and wrenched his shackles apart, splitting the chain like warm taffy. Then he, too, dropped to all fours, saliva dripping from his bared teeth.

Charlotte fought the Scythe's command. "Bernard," she whispered, shaking her head and touching his shoulder with her nose. "It's the Scythe."

"I know," he growled, his whole body vibrating. "I'm fighting it, but I can't seem to ..." His words dissolved into another terrible growl. He took a step toward Arugal and halted, fur bristling all over his neck and back.

Arugal had been speaking to the mages, but Charlotte could not attend to his words. Now he turned back to them and grinned, showing too many teeth. "Look at them! I have stripped away their intelligence spell, leaving them just animals. Kill them!"

"Attack the mages," the Scythe whispered in their ears. Behind Arugal, the mages were looking at him doubtfully, and squinting at Bernard and Charlotte as they slowly pulled out their wands and staves. Kryn in particular was gazing at the Scythe suspiciously.

Bernard took another staggering step forward, eyes never leaving Arugal's face. Charlotte hopped forward on her bound hands. She couldn't seem to remember how to stand erect, and even though her brain seemed clouded by a red mist of alien rage, she reminded herself of how bad humans smelled. Why would she want to taste that? But all of her persuasion tricks were slowly overcome by the power of the Scythe. She could simply not resist it.

She looked at Bernard. He was losing the battle, as well. Some of the mist cleared a little. The mages leveled their wands on them, and Charlotte knew that Bernard would die first.

Under the deadly arc of the Scythe, Charlotte hobbled forward and stood sideways between Bernard and the rest of the room. "Bernard," she whispered as his snarling jaws brushed her fur, "remember who I am, Bernard? I'm Charlotte. And I love you."

Her voice calmed him. His snarl relaxed a little, and his eyes sought hers. She nuzzled his face, aware that if he snapped at her, he could tear her throat out. But he did not. He shuddered and moaned, and returned to himself a little. "Charlotte," he muttered.

"No!" screamed Arugal. "Attack, you stupid beasts!" He slashed at Charlotte with the Scythe. Her eyes were fixed on Bernard, and she had no idea Arugal would attack her until the Scythe's blade sank into her back.

She screamed, not a wolf's howl, but the piercing shriek of a woman. As she fell, Bernard leaped over her and launched himself at Arugal's throat.

But Argual vanished, and Bernard hit the floor and rolled, scrambling to his feet. "Quick, catch him!" he bellowed, leaping for the stairs.

The mages had seen what had happened, and they understood at last that Arugal was using the Scythe to control the worgen. They teleported after him.

All but Kryn, who dashed to Charlotte and knelt over her. The Scythe had sliced deeply into her back and down her side, and dark blood spread from the wound into her white fur. She looked up at Kryn, whining uncontrollably, like a dog in pain. She struggled to speak through it. "Please ... please don't kill us."

"I'm not going to kill you," said Kryn gently, snapping open the shackles on her hands. "He controls worgen with the Scythe, doesn't he?"

"It's the Scythe of Elune," whispered Charlotte, and propped herself up to look at the wound. She licked at it, but Kryn gently pushed her away. "Leave it. You'll make it worse. Can you move your back legs?"

She moved them, but winced.

"He missed your spine," said Kryn in relief. "Hold on, I'll summon a healer." He rose and hurried across the tower loft to a portal circle painted on the floor.

Charlotte lay there, aware that the pain wasn't as bad as being controlled by the Scythe. She listened to the distant whooshes and thumps as the mages cast spells outside, and once in a while she heard Bernard's voice bellow orders. At least he was all right.

Arugal fled in short teleport hops, and Bernard could not run fast enough to keep up with him. The other mages outdistanced Bernard, chasing Arugal themselves in quick blinks.

"Get the Scythe from him!" Bernard yelled to them. They hollered back agreement and left him behind.

Bernard halted and stood up, panting with his tongue hanging out. Arugal had plunged into the forest, and the mages had followed him. Bernard thought of Charlotte falling with the blade in her back, and red fury rose in him that made the command of the Scythe pale in comparison. He wanted to rip Arugal into very small pieces.

No! Use your brain! Bernard calmed himself and thought. Why would Arugal enter the forest? Where might he go?

Arugal was exposed now. The Mage Guild knew how he used the Scythe. He couldn't stay in Gilneas anymore. He would make for the Graymane Wall and escape.

Bernard sprinted the opposite direction from the forest, making for the Graymane Wall to the north.

* * *

Charlotte was licking the bloody fur around her wound when Kryn returned with a priestess in tow. The priestess was a young woman in a white dress trimmed with gold, and looked like one of the under-priests from Dawn's Cathedral.

When the priestess saw Charlotte, she stopped dead, her face turning pasty white. "I can't heal a monster," she told Kryn.

Charlotte turned and looked at her. "I'm not a monster," she said. "I'm Lady Charlotte of Halfmoon Manor."

The priestess did not look convinced. She backed toward the portal. Kryn grabbed her arm. "Please, Karen! Lady Charlotte is in her right mind, one of the first worgen to undergo a successful experiment. It is no trick, and she needs your healing touch badly."

"Karen?" said Charlotte, trying to focus her bleary eyes on the girl. "Karen Goldlight?"

"Yes," said Karen uncertainly.

"I went to school with your older sister, Mabel," said Charlotte, resting her head on the floorboards. "A very sweet girl ... I'm glad you entered the priesthood, because I disagree with warlock teachings ..."

Karen's eyes widened.

* * *

Bernard arrived at the Graymane Wall a mile east of town, gasping for breath, muscles burning. He followed it back west, toward the city and the worgen pens.

His questing nostrils did not catch Arugal's scent anywhere near, but the human smell was so thick here that it blotted out everything else. The breeze was blowing from the east here, carrying all scents away from him. Bernard cursed himself. He had arrived upwind.

He slunk along the wall, darting between clumps of brush and small trees, pausing often to look and listen. After a while he reached the worgen pens, and gazed at them in horror. They were leveled, the wooden barracades torn to splinters. The place stank of worgen refuse and dried blood.

Bernard picked his way around it and used the rubble as cover as he moved toward the gates. The gates were blocked and chained, the portcullis cemented into the ground. It had been that way ever since Graymane had sealed them off from Silverpine to protect them from the Scourge. And now a curse as terrible as the Scourge was loose in Gilneas.

Movement. Bernard froze, the fur on his back lifting. Arugal appeared in a flicker of light, holding his side and panting. He still gripped the Scythe, but his robes were torn and muddy. He bent and rested one hand on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

Bernard stalked toward him, head low, hardly lifting his feet from the ground, back perfectly level. Arugal did not notice him. Bernard stopped at the edge of the last collapsed wooden wall and measured the distance to his prey. Arugal stood in the middle of the road, twenty feet away, in the open. Bernard would have to break cover, and he would be completely exposed.

But he wanted to punish Arugal for hurting Charlotte. And he had to try to get that Scythe away from him.

He burst out of hiding and sprinted across the road toward Arugal. His claws clicked loudly on the pavement, and Arugal stood up and faced him. He raised the Scythe, but his face contorted in hatred, and he held up his left hand, which began to glow orange.

Bernard focused his attention on the Scythe. As tempting as it was to attack Arugal directly, taking the Scythe would devastate Arugal far more. He leaped, extending one clawed hand.

Arugal hurled his handful of orange light at Bernard. It became a fireball as soon as it left his hand, and it struck Bernard full in the face.

Bernard's forward momentum propelled him into Arugal, and his reaching hand still closed on the Scythe's handle. Then they both hit the ground, Bernard with his head on fire, but clinging grimly to the Scythe. As he rolled, he ripped it out of Arugal's grasp, and hung on to it as he continued to roll, trying to put out the fire. He held his breath, but his entire face and eyes were a mass of horrible pain.

He felt himself blacking out, and made sure that he was lying across the Scythe's handle to keep Arugal from getting it. But he heard Arugal's footsteps running toward the locked gates, and then the crackle of magic as he teleported through.

Bernard relaxed and let unconsciousness take him.

* * *

Charlotte was sitting up in a cushioned chair, delicately sipping wine from a heavy wooden mug, when the portal across the mage tower room swirled to life. Five mages and Sir William stepped through, carrying a mass of gray and brown fur on a stretcher.

"Bernard!" cried Charlotte, leaping to her feet, then sinking back into her chair with a whimper. Her wound had a healing spell on it, but it would take a few hours to mend and was securely bandaged.

They carried the stretcher to Charlotte and carefully set it down in front of her. "What happened to him?" she whispered, staring at his face. All the fur had been burned off, and the flesh beneath did not resemble a face anymore.

"We think Arugal hit him with a fireball," said one of the mages. "Where's the healer?"

"She's downstairs," said Charlotte, stooping and finding one of Bernard's clawed hands. She clasped it in both of her own as one of the mages teleported downstairs. He reappeared a moment later with Karen in tow. She carried a box filled with first aid supplies. She set it down beside Bernard and knelt beside him.

"Ouch," she said, wincing. "Some kind of fireball, I take it?"

The mages nodded.

Karen went to work, opening bottles of salves and smearing them all over Bernard's burned face, paying close attention to the spots where his eyes had been.

"Is he blind?" asked Charlotte, hardly able to speak around the lump in her throat.

"I don't know," said Karen. "I think his eyelids are melted shut, but until the healing takes effect, we won't know what condition his eyes are in." She finished applying the salve, and closed the bottle. "The salve is to minimize the pain. The best remedy is still the Light." She placed both hands on Bernard's sticky face, closed her eyes, and began to pray, lips moving silently.

At first nothing seemed to happen. Charlotte watched, blinking tears from her eyes, and after a while she saw a golden glow surround Karen's face and hands. It brightened, and under her hands, Bernard's burned face shifted. The seared flesh moved, pulling back into place, and gray fur sprouted and hid the pink.

Bernard grunted, and his eyes opened. He saw Karen's hands on him and flinched, but Charlotte laid a hand on his shoulder and said, "Wait, she's healing you."

Bernard rolled his eyes around to look at Charlotte, and sank back down on the stretcher. Karen did not open her eyes or break her concentration. She continued to pray, and Bernard's face continued to heal.

Bernard's claws flexed. He moved his eyes around, then said quietly, "Where's the Scythe?"

Charlotte shook her head.

Karen opened her eyes, and looked down at Bernard. "Oh, you look much better," she said, beaming.

"Thank you," said Bernard, pushing himself upright and touching his muzzle. "Did anyone see the Scythe? I had it when I blacked out."

"There was a shattered wooden staff under you," said one of the mages. "The blade of the Scythe was gone. We left the staff, it was useless."

Bernard growled and shook his head. "He must have come back for it." He turned to Charlotte and placed both hands on her shoulders. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I will be," she said, gesturing to the bandage that encircled her waist. She nuzzled his face, and he nuzzled her in return. The he sat down beside her and gently touched his face. "I must look horrible," he murmured.

"You looked like a giant rat when they brought you in," said Charlotte. "But the spell is repairing your face. I can tell who you are again."

"I'm flattered," said Bernard. But he licked her cheek affectionately.

With Bernard's help, the Mage Society and the surviving alchemists refined the worgen elixir. They improved it to the point where not only did it let a worgen regain their human mind, but they could also return to their human form.

The curse could never completely be lifted, not without petitioning Elune herself, some of the mages believed. But as long as a cursed person kept himself calm and collected, he would not transform back into a worgen. Strong emotion forced a transformation, but with a little practice, a person could perfect shifting back and forth.

Bernard and Charlotte booked passage out of Gilneas on one of the merchant ships bound for Stormwind. They had both shifted into human form. Bernard wore a trim black suit and top hat, while Charlotte wore a pink dress with lots of ruffles. It was a relief to wear clothing again, while at the same time, Charlotte felt the worgen instincts in her mind. She would never truly be free of them, but without them she would never have learned to love Bernard.

Bernard had lost weight and put on muscle. He still loved his books and alchemy experiments, but now he spent more time outdoors, working alongside other sane worgen to rebuild Gilneas.

But now it was time to move on. While Gilneas was still sealed to the world, someone needed to plant ideas among the other humans that perhaps Gilneas needed help. And perhaps monstrous creatures walking among the Alliance was not such a bad thing.

Charlotte slipped her arm through Bernard's as the ship's crew cast off the ropes and the ship's sails caught the wind. She had a feeling that their adventure was just beginning.


End file.
